


The Deadliest Sin

by Satelesque



Series: Appleradio Collection [6]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Anal Sex, Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Bondage, Family Issues, Knifeplay, M/M, Masochism, Mildly Dubious Consent, Painplay, Porn With Plot, Power Imbalance, Sadism, Touch-Averse Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:22:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24881515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satelesque/pseuds/Satelesque
Summary: Few in Hell are thrilled by news of the Hotel's first success story, but some take it worse than others.  In the midst of an evening of celebration, Alastor is called away by a less than friendly summons to face a less than thrilled Lucifer, one who can't wait to take his anger out on the demon who made all of this possible.  And still, true to form, Alastor can't help but egg him on.
Relationships: Alastor/Lucifer Magne
Series: Appleradio Collection [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1780735
Comments: 13
Kudos: 128





	The Deadliest Sin

**Author's Note:**

> Is this dubcon? Everything explicit is consensual, but the circumstances of it aren't great. Tagging to be safe.
> 
> This time there's a plot for a change!
> 
> For Appleradio Week, Day 7: Perfect Night. It'll make sense eventually, I promise.

The reactions to the Hotel’s first success story were about as expected. Denial at first—no way could a sinner really be saved. Then came anger. What about them? They only robbed a few stores, only shot a couple of guys, and they regretted it, promise! Then bargaining—how about if they promised not to stab anyone ever again, even if they really had it coming? Then finally depression and acceptance.

The hotel staff had seen it time and time again in the last month as one by one the guests realized that one among them was different. One good soul truly repented for his life of crime and treated his fellow demons with civility and compassion. The writing was on the wall long before the pearly gates finally opened for him, and the staff had readied everything they’d need for the farewell ceremony weeks in advance. The evening started with a grand dinner for the remaining guests, a dinner that stayed tense and bitter despite Charlie’s encouraging speeches. Then, after everyone else had moved on, the staff party could start.

The first cue was Charlie running to her room to fetch an old bottle of wine. “Vaggie gave this to me the day we opened. Thanks for believing,” she said, wrapping her arms around her. “Thanks for everything!”

“Oh hon, I always knew you could do it!” Vaggie said, hugging her back tightly, right up until Angel Dust spoke up.

“Hey, I believed in you too! Where’s my hug?”

“Right here,” Charlie said before wrapping her arms around him. “Don’t worry Angel, I’m sure you’ll be next in line.”

“Course I am, now that we know this redemption gig actually works. What kinda God wouldn’t want me around?” Despite the bluster, his hug softened for a moment before letting go.

“Should Miss Angel be here?” a high voice chipped in. Whether intentionally or not, Niffty’s name for him had stuck, and Angel insisted that it was fine.

“You bet I should! I’m good as honorary staff after all those ads you had me in!”

“If Miss Charlie says it’s—” Niffty started before being swept off her feet in a hug.

“And you too Niffty! Thanks for keeping this old place clean and in one piece!”

“Oh it’s the least a lady can do to clean up a home!” she squeaked when Charlie set her down. “It’s just some dusting and vacuuming and fumigating, and oh the cobwebs on the molding are getting out of hand, and. . .” She muttered on to herself, counting chores on her fingers while Charlie turned her attention to Husk.

“Oh, no. No hugs. I didn’t start here for your sake, and you can bet I didn’t believe ‘til this morning.”

“Then it’s been a pleasure working with you,” Charlie said, holding out her hand and beaming at him until finally he relented and shook.

And then there was one, the man everyone had been treading lightly around for weeks as if they expected him to snap at any moment and drop the entire hotel into a bottomless pit. The one who’d been loudest in voicing his disbelief from the start, and with whom handshakes always had a layer of nervous tension.

“Charlie, you don’t—” Vaggie started, reaching out to her shoulder, but Charlie smiled and took that hand in hers.

“It’s okay, Vaggie,” she said, squeezing Vaggie’s hand before turning to Alastor. “Al,” she said, after taking a deep breath. “I know you only wanted to watch people fail to find redemption, and my order only stands as long as you want to help. Now that we’ve redeemed someone, you don’t have to—“

“My dear, I have absolutely no plans of leaving now!” he said, cutting her off with a wave. “No, this is only the beginning! Now that sinners know it’s possible, they’ll be flocking to our door in droves! Especially the ones who should know better than anyone else by now that they belong down here. Now, how could I miss that?”

A long time ago Charlie would have been annoyed at such a display of cynicism. Now, after months of unflinching support for the Hotel, she’d either grown used to it or decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Still, the tension from the last month lingered.

“You’re not mad?” she asked.

“Of course not! Why should I be? It’s a revolution! A brand new paradigm, and with our good princess at its heart.” He reached out, poking a finger to her chest, and as she finally started looking up, he spun her around by the shoulders. “Now what’s say you open up that bottle and have a toast to tenacity!”

And with that, as all of their glasses clinked together with a cheer, the air in the lobby grew to the warmest it had ever been. Through countless hours, a million arguments, and no telling how many early disappointments, the six of them had accomplished something truly unforgettable.

But this was Hell, and the moment couldn’t last. The official announcement would go out the next morning, and rumors were already spreading. There’d be meetings, interviews, broadcasts, tours, and preparations to make for an influx of guests. This night would be the last peaceful one in weeks, maybe months, but Alastor didn’t expect it to be cut short so soon.

It started with a nagging sense of wrongness, a feeling plenty of sinners joked at as someone walking on their graves. Those were ordinary sinners though, ones who didn’t leave magic lingering in their footsteps or set up wards to keep that magic in place. It was only as one of those old wards frayed and snapped with a burst of feedback that Alastor pinpointed the problem. There was a presence in his broadcasting station—the closest Alastor had ever made to a home here in Hell. A presence powerful enough to warp the place’s magic and malicious enough not to restrain itself.

“Terribly sorry everyone, but I’ve just realized I have an urgent appointment,” Alastor announced and was gone before he could catch more than a glimpse of surprise. The warp between the Hotel and station was a familiar one, and even with the distortion in his magic, he reappeared next to its very source.

Only for a hand to wrap around his throat and slam it against a wall. “My king! What an unexpected pleasure!” he choked out as he blinked stars from his eyes.

Even before Lucifer’s face resolved into focus, his magic was unmistakable, radiating out in a way he’d normally keep at least somewhat under wraps. It was the same magic Alastor had felt traces of in the Hotel’s early days then brushed aside like cobwebs as he swept through the place. It was the magic Alastor had grown used to feeling in the air around him like a miniature sun, but not like this.

The moment he arrived, Alastor had reached out, reinforcing his wards with his own power and healing the frayed ends of the one that snapped. Lucifer seemed to take that as his cue to press harder, letting his magic loose to vie with Alastor’s for control of the space. The cycle of defense and offense continued, building until Alastor’s hands were glowing and all stops pulled short of drawing blood. Only then did Lucifer stop, not pressing farther but not relenting, holding Alastor in place like a fly in a web as his claws slid against Alastor’s throat.

“My, you do care for this place, don’t you?” he said, his voice as bitter and strained as his smile. “Reach too far, and you won’t have enough to defend yourself.”

“But my king, why would I need to?” Alastor asked, light and melodic and perfectly relaxed after his evening at the hotel. “If you want me to hurt, it’ll happen no matter how I try to defend myself. But you don’t care about this place, and as long as you don’t care, defending it might do some good.”

The consequence was leaving himself completely open, but Lucifer wouldn’t kill him, not on the eve of Charlie’s great success. Hurt him, maybe. Probably, even, but it’d be a lie to say Alastor was entirely dreading it. Already the claws around his throat were quickening his heartbeat, the rush of adrenaline and magic sharpening his senses as if to start a fight.

First and foremost in his awareness was how close Lucifer was. There were mere inches left between them as Lucifer leaned in, an intrusion just as profound as his magic, but that was the theme for tonight. Putting Alastor in his place. It was obvious as the rage in Lucifer’s smile and yet another reason to keep his defenses down.

And whether it was that de facto surrender or Alastor’s mirth being contagious as usual, Lucifer’s voice was softer when he next spoke. “Clever as always. So clever I’d kill to tear your little plan apart, but there’s no point, is there? You’ll stop defending if it doesn’t work, and I’ll lose the chance to keep you pinned. Like one of those butterflies your kind keep telling Charlie about.”

Of course. It all came back to the Hotel, always back to Charlie. “So you heard,” Alastor said. ”Of all the times I’ve been wrong, I didn’t expect this would be one of them. Redemption! Who’d have thought?”

Lucifer only scoffed. “Oh, do you really think I care about a few petty sinners? Dead in a Cleanse or whisked off to Heaven, it’s no difference to me. But it is to Charlie, and now my dear daughter will be wasting the next millennium on them instead of acting like the princess she is. And it’s all your fault.”

Now that wasn’t fair. It was at least as much Lucifer’s own fault for pushing Charlie away in the first place, but that wasn’t anywhere near safe to say. What Alastor opted for instead was hardly any better. “At least now you can be proud to know that dear Charlie is not and has never been a failure.”

For a moment there was silence as Lucifer’s hand tightened around Alastor’s neck, his claws digging in just shy of breaking skin. “Very funny,” he said eventually, not an ounce of humor in his voice. “You’ve been around long enough to know that people who anger me tend to meet slow and excruciating ends, but I like you. That’s the only reason you’re not dead yet. I’m giving you one night to remind me why that is.”

“No. You’re not.”

This time his claws did pierce skin, a sharp prick and the warmth of blood soaking into Alastor’s collar. “If you’re so eager to die that you’d throw away your chance, then—“

“Oh, no, no! We both know you’ll be staying the night, but not for a reminder. If that’s all you wanted, don’t you think this would be enough?”

After all, it was a near-perfect microcosm. Lucifer’s power was inexorable, yet here Alastor was, submitting where he had to, fighting back where he could, and enjoying every careful step of the game. Even the ones that hurt. 

“What you want,” Alastor went on, ”is a distraction and a scapegoat. So go on, what did you have in mind? What’s the punishment for helping dear Charlie? I won’t even tell her, just for you.”

And underneath the layers of thrill, there was something utterly relaxing in letting Lucifer set the pace, falling back on the assurance that he could more than keep up. There was the usual tension at having Lucifer so close and at claws around his throat, but despite it Alastor let his head fall back against the wall and his eyes slide closed.

It was begging for trouble, and Lucifer delivered with an explosion of pain. It was a sharp, searing fire begging Alastor to pull away, but the sword of light was stuck deep in his side, pinning him to the wall. It wasn’t celestial steel. It wasn’t lethal, but it was still anathema, the angelic magic so fundamentally opposed to his that it burned like acid in his veins.

“What’s wrong?” Lucifer purred. “Still won’t defend yourself?” The sword glowed as his hand tightened on it, and Alastor gasped as the burn sharpened, then let the breath out in a laugh.

“But I’ve already told you. There’s no point. I can’t stop you, I don’t need to, and you wouldn’t want me to try, would you?”

The fingertips brushing along Alastor’s jaw might have been a comfort had either of them been anyone else. They wandered down his neck, slid down his chest, and settled on his hip. All of it was another reminder Alastor couldn’t get away from, just as much as the blade, and for that reason alone he didn’t want to.

“You think you’re the only one who can read people?” Lucifer said, too close as usual and closer still with his magic suffusing the room. “You think you can pin this all on me? I’m the one who wants it. I’m the one pushing you, and you’re letting me like a good little subject, but that’s not it, is it? You want to be pushed. Always looking for something new, something interesting, something just a step from getting you killed because you like to think you know what you’re doing.”

There was a peculiar sharpness to those last few words, an emphasis belying a deep irony that took Alastor only a second to place. “Really now?  _ You’re _ giving me the pride before the fall spiel?” he said, and the moment he did a chill passed through the air. It was the one line that wasn’t to be crossed, the one moment that few would dare remind Lucifer of and that even fewer could survive.

But Lucifer only stepped away, letting the sword vanish from his hand. The pain receded to an ordinary stab wound, and the static it forced out faded to silence as Lucifer stood perfectly still, his expression nothing more than a blank, empty smile. Then, finally, he spoke.

“I should kill you.”

The rest could have gone unsaid, but Alastor opened his mouth anyway. “But you won’t.”

“No. I won’t,” Lucifer said, and finally his expression shifted, his eyes burning with outrage. “But I will make you pay for that. What do you say? Why don’t we find out just how far I can push you? Let’s see how far that pain tolerance goes. But not here.”

Alastor looked around the room he’d appeared in, a sparsely decorated lounge that tended to appear near the front of the endlessly shifting station. It must have been the first room Lucifer stumbled upon, but there’d be time for a tour later when Alastor wasn’t carefully holding his breath even to keep it from speeding up.

“You’re absolutely right!” Alastor said, stepping forward to wrap an arm around Lucifer’s shoulders. “Why waste our time here when there’s a perfectly serviceable dungeon downstairs?”

It was a careful balancing act, lowering his guard just enough to manage a teleport, but as the shadows began to swirl around them, Lucifer interrupted.

“No, not the dungeon, I think. How many petty souls have you taken down there? You’re better than them, aren’t you? No, for you I’m thinking a bedroom.”

The implications were obvious, but the reasoning was irrefutable, and Alastor changed their destination with a sigh. When the shadows pulled away, they were in the middle of a spacious room, and Alastor wasn’t the least bit surprised when Lucifer immediately shoved him onto the bed. Lucifer paused only for a second to give the scene an appraising look and snap his fingers before climbing on top. As he did the color bled away from the sheets, turning them from a deep red to a pristine white.

“Yes,” he hummed. “This suits you much better. Go ahead, keep smiling. It’s not anyone who can insult me to my face and get away with it. You’ve earned your pride, but you still have so much left to learn.” His hand wandered to Alastor’s side, pressing softly against the stab wound leaking blood onto the sheets. “For a start, did you know that angels can heal?”

There was a moment’s pause while magic gathered at Lucifer’s fingertips, and in the next was blinding pain worse than the sword. Worse than tearing nerves apart, it was sowing them back together, all the while lighting them on fire with angelic magic. It only lasted seconds, but it was seconds of Alastor’s hands bunching in the covers, of wide eyes and shallow, uneven breathing until finally it faded, and he relaxed back onto the sheets.

“Of course I did,” Alastor managed between gasps for breath. “I’ve seen Exorcists, but that was. . .” In all his vocabulary there wasn’t a word for how dreadful and brilliant the pain had been, of how deeply wrong it was even as it was ages since he’d felt so alive. There were no words better than a simple, “Do it again.”

There was no question that Lucifer would, not when his eyes were shining with glee and his grin wide enough to match Alastor’s. “Your shirt’s in the way,” he said first, running a finger down the row of buttons. “Take it off.”

Clearly subtlety wasn’t the order of the day, but there was no use hesitating. Complaining wouldn’t get Alastor any further, and he raised his hands to undo his tie. The motion pulled at his side, but there wasn’t even a twinge of discomfort. Perfectly healed. “So who else knows?” Alastor asked and earned himself a chuckle.

“Oh, Lilith of course, and Charlie. A handful of nobles, maybe more if they got chatty, and anyone who’s bothered connecting the dots. Why? Feeling jealous?”

“Idle curiosity,” Alastor countered. “And how many of them have you used it on?”

“A few. Lilith, before we knew what it does to demons. A couple others when it’d have taken too long to wait, but you lot heal naturally anyway. Charlie’s the only one who ever asked. She’d always whine about it too. ‘It  _ stings, _ dad!’ But it’s been, oh, centuries now. . .” For a while, Lucifer stared into the distance, but his focus returned as Alastor finished unbuttoning his coat and started on his shirt. “And now there’s you. Are you feeling honored yet?”

“Is that what this is?” Alastor breathed, his fingers slipping on a button as Lucifer leaned forward, hands on either side of his head. “Hmm. No, can’t be sure. Maybe I can tell you next time, but I can’t get this off while you’re in the way.” With the last button undone, he reached up, tapping a finger against Lucifer’s arm.

“Patience. You have to be hurt before I can heal you, and I’m still deciding how.”

“Why decide? You have all night, and you have to start somewhere.”

“If you insist,” Lucifer said, pulling aside Alastor’s collar. Then his mouth was there, warm and wet at the crook of his neck, and full of sharp teeth. The sting as they broke skin was almost worth Lucifer shifting closer, pressing one hand to Alastor’s shoulder, and catching a wrist in the other to pin it to the bed. Then Lucifer pulled back, his teeth and lips bloodstained, and for an absurd moment Alastor thought he’d lean down to kiss him. Instead his eyes drifted back to Alastor’s neck and the slow trickle of blood from the cuts. “Now here’s a problem,” he said. “Do I heal that, or do I enjoy the view?”

“Why not both?”

There was a pause while the words sank in, and then Lucifer did kiss him, just barely. Just enough to whisper against his lips, “Oh, I knew I made the right choice not killing you,” before sliding his hand to the cut.

The pain of it was like lightning, shallower than before but more immediate. Closer to vitals. There was an instinctive urge to hunch his shoulders, turn his head, and hide the cut from Lucifer’s touch, but far deeper than that was the need to be better. To flinch and gasp as proof he felt it but tip his head back anyway, letting Lucifer do as he pleased because none of it would break him. Nothing Lucifer could do would ever wipe the smile from Alastor’s face, and that was enough to keep it there forever.

But Lucifer didn’t pull away, even after the pain faded. Instead he shifted, straddling Alastor’s hips and hooking his ankles around Alastor’s legs. His claws dug in, but the magic was still there, trailing after his hand like ribbons of fire as he dragged it down Alastor’s chest. And it was obvious now why he’d moved. There was no holding still against this, no staying quiet. Alastor jerked against Lucifer’s hips and swallowed a moan as a static whine filled the room.

“Now isn’t this just perfect,” Lucifer said, his voice almost singsong if not for a sharp hint of malice. “This way I don’t have to stop and hurt you. We could do this  _ forever.” _ He paired the last word with a flourish of his hand, twisting his way down Alastor’s side as if dragging a hot poker. “The only downside’s that it doesn’t leave a mark. Such a shame, don’t you think? That you don’t get proof you’re mine?”

It was a struggle to get the words out, but Alastor did it. The pain was expected, but the duration of it wasn’t. He hadn’t had time to prepare or brace himself, and it showed in the sharp jerks as he tried to twist away and stopped himself, in the hints of voice that came with his gasps, half moan and half whine. But it would end, no matter what Lucifer said, and Alastor forced the words out in spite of the pain.

“Why are you talking?”

It took Lucifer a few seconds to understand, seconds he filled by carving spiraling patterns across Alastor’s stomach, but finally he realized when Alastor tipped his head to the side. “Oh, that’s right. You did ask for both, didn’t you?”

Compared to the searing light of Lucifer’s magic, the pain of the bite was almost pleasant. Clean, sharp, and familiar—a perfect focus to gather his scattered thoughts. Meaningful even, more than the endless flood of pain meant to test his limits. Proof that he was Lucifer’s? Unquestionably in moments like these, but on the whole?

“Shame it’ll—” Alastor started before an especially vicious swipe forced him to grit his teeth and hiss in a breath. “Shame it’ll heal anyway, but nothing lasts forever.”

As if to affirm the claim, Lucifer’s claws stopped in their wandering, but his words said the opposite. “How mortal of you! And entirely wrong! Some things do last, unless you mean to say you’ll ever let this station of yours fall. Maybe for a day or two if someone tears it down while you’re not looking, but just try and tell me you wouldn’t hunt them down and rebuild to the last brick.”

Alastor could hardly contest the point, not while he was still holding his magic up around the place like a shield. “There are exceptions,” he sighed. “I’ll give you that. Humans might be out of luck, but magic changes the rules. Nothing lasts longer than a deal.”

It was meant to be a general statement, a reference to the dealmaker’s art that was the source of both their powers, at least in part. But Lucifer gravitated to the last word like he’d been waiting for it.

“Is that what you want? A deal? It would be the perfect proof.” He trailed off as if considering it, but Alastor could only laugh.

“Ha! You think of all demons  _ I _ would be careless enough to sell my soul to the devil?”

“And you think I’m stupid enough to ask for your soul?” Lucifer countered. “Please. I’m thinking something more civilized. You could be a knight! All you have to do is swear fealty to me, and—“

“Become the biggest joke in all of Hell? The Radio Demon brought to heel as if I’m your hunting dog? You couldn’t offer me enough.” Not to mention that the political games around the Hotel would immediately turn too tedious for words. It was a deal Alastor would never consider, but that was the trick. Make a ridiculous offer, and the next would seem reasonable by contrast.

“There it is,” Lucifer murmured. “That pride again, even now. Or is it especially now?”

His hand slid up Alastor’s chest, pausing at the bite mark but only to tease at its edges before moving away. His other hand shifted, pressing a thumb against the pulse point at Alastor’s wrist. It was still fast, Alastor knew. He could hear it in his ears, feel it as a throbbing ache at his shoulder, but it didn’t speed up. Not as Lucifer rested a thumb against his cheek and curled fingers around his jaw, and that was reason enough to shake his head, knock the hand away, and give Lucifer a condescending look.

But Lucifer just smirked and set his hand back more firmly, with claws. “You can pretend you hate this all you want, but pride’s a double-edged sword, and not in the old  _ before the fall _ sense. It feels good, doesn’t it, being admired? Why else would you doll yourself up in those pretty suits of yours?”

Unbidden the thought of Angel Dust and his horrid fans jumped to mind, and there had to be some way—any way—to argue the point. “You seem to be mistaking vanity for pride,” Alastor said, a weak argument to buy time to think, and Lucifer saw through it immediately.

“Semantics,” he said with a roll of his eyes, and when he looked back at Alastor it was with a sharp, unyielding focus. “But aren’t you in a hurry to deny it? Why’s that, hm? What is it about this—” His thumb brushed across Alastor’s cheekbone. “—that you hate so much? What is it that makes  _ this _ so much better?”

And with that the magic was back, sparking from Lucifer’s fingertip as he dragged a claw along Alastor’s jaw and down to the tip of his chin. It was so close, incredibly close. The scrape of claw against bone echoed through his head, and right behind it a burn like molten glass filling the wound and sealing it shut. Alastor’s eyes went wide, staring up at the ceiling and nothing at all as he listened to the sound of shaky breaths through gritted teeth and his thundering heartbeat. And then it was gone. The tension ebbed away, leaving behind a brilliant glow, and Alastor refocused on Lucifer, eyes wide and unblinking.

“Everything.”

The rush of adrenaline, the pride of smiling through it, the bitter satisfaction that there was only one being in Hell that Alastor would allow this from without a fight, if only for the sake of skipping unnecessary steps. The racing heartbeat that even Lucifer could feel.

But despite that, despite the obvious thrill in Lucifer’s eyes at seeing Alastor in pain, he still laughed. “’Everything?’ Don’t you get it? They’re exactly the same! The only difference is what you feel at the end, adrenaline or vanity.”

Lucifer’s hand moved, fingers tracing along the corner of Alastor’s smile and up around his eye, and that was the final straw, enough to risk reminding Lucifer why they were here. “What, is that it? Forgiven already after everything I’ve done?”

“Not even close,” Lucifer said, his hand slipping down to thread through Alastor’s hair.

Alastor finally pulled his free hand out from where his claws had tangled in the covers. “Then—” But before he could do anything—before he could raise his hand to Lucifer’s hip to mock him while digging in claws—Lucifer moved blindingly fast to catch it. There was a burning, wonderfully familiar pain, and both hands were pinned, the second by a glowing knife through his palm.

“No,” Lucifer said. “I already told you. Today you’re going to listen, and you’re going to learn.”

Alastor narrowed his eyes, weighing his options. A quick pull sent a stab of pain up his arm and confirmed it was well and truly stuck, the knife held in place by more than just the mattress. He could still pull free and tear his hand apart in the process—and,  _ oh, _ wouldn’t that burn wonderfully if Lucifer had to heal it? It was tempting for that reason alone, but such a show of resistance at a simple touch was overkill. It was weakness, an admission of just how unpleasant Alastor found it, even though Lucifer already had to know. Sometimes a seething silence could be worth more than words, and Lucifer caught it and smiled.

“That’s right,” he said, tracing a finger down Alastor’s neck, between his collarbones, and back up. “Keep smiling. Never miss a step. That’s how you’ve always done it, isn’t it, and on the way you’ve made yourself into art. A moving sculpture—look, listen, but don’t touch. Everyone else will pay for it if they do, but me? What could you do against me? And doesn’t that sound familiar?”

Even if it wasn’t, the faint tap of claws against his throat would’ve been enough. But they didn’t sink in, not even when Alastor tipped his head back, no matter how challenging the glare was that he shot at Lucifer.

“Oh, but you still don’t understand, do you? Always the performer. Everything you touch becomes a prop, maybe an actor if they’re lucky. The world’s your stage, and everyone gets a role. But—” Lucifer’s finger trailed along the bridge of his nose, then up to trace his horns. “That’s not what this is. I’m not changing the show. I’m not dragging you into mine, and why would I when yours is so spectacular?”

His finger caught on the tip of a horn, hard enough for Alastor to feel it pierce skin, and he hated that it wasn’t the only reason for the satisfaction spreading through him. “A compliment won’t be enough to win me over, Lucifer dear.”

Maybe it was his finger on Alastor’s pulse, maybe just familiarity, but that grin on Lucifer’s face meant he knew exactly what he’d done. “And that’s where you’re wrong! Compliments will get us everywhere with each other. What did you think all this was?”

In the abstract Lucifer was right. The lines Alastor let him cross, the care he put into their games, and all the lines Lucifer let him cross in turn were a perfect show of veiled regard. It was a dance where every step was an ironic bow, and all the lyrics were, ‘Oh, aren’t you just so  _ worthy,’ _ but the sentiment behind the sarcasm was real. Even now.

“That’s right. It’s a  _ compliment _ that I want to touch you just as much as I want you writhing in pain beneath me.” Lucifer’s grin was wide. Too many teeth, or maybe just enough. “But you don’t know how to use it,” he went on. “Somewhere in the back of your mind you know this is a win for you, but you don’t know why, so you’ll glare at me and pretend you want me to stop. Try taking a cue from Lilith and a good look in the mirror instead. You’re still new around here, and you’ve already come so far. With another few centuries to really come into your own? Oh, you could be  _ magnificent.” _

_ And mine. _ The words went unspoken but fully implied. They were written in the hunger in Lucifer’s eyes, the pressure of his hand as it settled back on Alastor’s cheek, the smile as he reconsidered and reached down to pull the knife from Alastor’s hand. There was no way he meant for that to be the end or he would have dismissed the knife instead, and it was obvious enough what he wanted when he freed Alastor’s other hand and sat back on his thighs. Alastor sighed as he began shrugging off his shirt.

“I hope you have plans for that,” he said, eyes flicking to Lucifer’s knife.

“I didn’t forget what you said before,” Lucifer said by way of answer, even when the truth was closer to, ‘How could I not when you’re practically begging for it?’ But that wouldn’t align with the lip service of it being a punishment, and the excuse was necessary, always necessary.

“Oh good.” Alastor pulled his arms from the sleeves and paired the words with an offhand gesture. Lucifer’s eyes followed the arc of his hand, the trail of blood it left across the now-white sheets as Alastor brought it back to his mouth to lick the cut. “I was starting to wonder if I should risk saying it again.”

For a while, Lucifer’s only response was pressing the tip of the knife to Alastor’s stomach and sliding it slowly up across his chest. The cut was thin, the base of it already pulling together before Lucifer even finished, but the pain was something else. It was a burning point, slowly dragging along and lighting nerves aflame as it went. Impossible to ignore. Impossible to turn away from even as Lucifer finally spoke.

“Oh, Alastor. One of these days you really are going to mouth off to the wrong person and get yourself killed. It’d be such a shame to see, so I’m going to make you one final offer.” The knife tip slid past Alastor’s shoulders then to the side as the blade settled with a shallow cut across his neck. “One time you’ll answer my call, and in exchange, one time I’ll answer yours.”

Now that was a real deal, not like the last one. With the blade burning at his throat it was almost tempting to be impulsive and take the offer come what may, but that would be worse than suicidal.

“Define, ’answer my call,’” Alastor said, then let out a breath as the knife lifted away. It didn’t last long. In a second it was back, cutting cross-hatching scratches along his shoulder and down his arm, but that just meant it was the right answer.

“Exactly what it is,” Lucifer said. “Take as favorable an interpretation as you want. I call you, and you come to me as soon as possible. No time limits if, say, you’re tied down somewhere. And no need to help when you do show up, so when you call, make sure it’s worth my time.”

It seemed almost too good to be true. Too obviously skewed exactly because it was so even. Instinct screamed that there was a catch somewhere but to take it anyway. It had worked out last time, but right now instinct couldn’t be trusted. Not with Lucifer grinning down at him and carving lines of fire across his chest. Not while Lucifer’s other hand pinned his shoulder when a sharp gasp and shiver threatened to ruin the pattern. But if it did Lucifer could just heal it and start over, and that thought had the background static skipping between stations as goosebumps trailed down Alastor’s arms.

As for the deal, it was simple enough that he didn’t need instinct to check for downsides. It was a simple one-time call to summons. Only a handful of ways it could go wrong. A threat at the destination, maybe. A summons intended to kill the one summoned.

“Still looking for loopholes?” Lucifer asked.

Alastor answered between gritted teeth. “You’re being very distracting.”

“Oh? Should I stop?” Even as he said it Lucifer pressed the blade in deeper, slipping between two ribs just shy of anything vital. There were dozens of ways to answer that, but of all the words flying through Alastor’s head, he chose the simplest.

“No!” he gasped. “Absolutely not.”

“Then I’ll just let you take your time,” he said and went back to tracing patterns.

With a shaky breath to refocus, Alastor got back to the deal. A trap at the destination would be pointless for either of them. There was nothing in Hell that could kill Lucifer that wouldn’t kill Alastor first, and if Lucifer wanted Alastor dead he didn’t need a loophole in a deal to do it. So what else? If not the destination then the start? A summons while Alastor was busy to sabotage his plans? Normally it’d be pointless. Normally Lucifer wouldn’t bother, but tonight it was possible. Tonight he might be holding a grudge.

“On one condition,” Alastor finally said. “I reserve the right to delay if I’m on Hotel business. I can’t have you using my deal to undermine Charlie.”

He didn’t expect the slight furrow then raise of Lucifer’s brows. Confusion then surprise, as if he hadn’t even considered the possibility. “Oh, you do care!” Lucifer almost sang, then sank the knife into Alastor’s chest to hold out his hand. “It’s too late anyway. You’ve had your win, and the place won’t collapse if I drag you away for a night. But I accept.”

The taste of blood drifted across Alastor’s tongue, then more as a cough forced him to clear his throat. It stained his teeth red as he gave Lucifer a wide grin and reached up to meet his hand.

“Then it’s a deal.”

The magic sealed it with a faint rush of wind as their hands shook. None of Alastor’s usual showmanship while he was still protecting his wards, and none of the flair or drama that he might have expected from Lucifer. Whether that boded well or ill, Alastor didn’t know, but the magic of the deal was no weaker for it. It flowed across his skin and deeper, an aching glow reminiscent of the dagger in his chest but closer to home. Demonic, not angelic. A rush of energy that settled deep in his soul like a crown. A deal with the devil himself—a true deal, long-lasting and indefinite even if there were no souls at stake—and it didn’t matter that it was only the simplest of favors.

“So, any plans for your end?” Lucifer asked, drawing the knife out. There was a moment of relief as Alastor gasped in a breath, then it ended abruptly in a coughing fit and Lucifer pressing a hand to the wound. “Hold still,” he said, but it was impossible. There was no way not to tense or dig his heels into the bed or claw at the covers when that touch was filling Alastor’s lungs with liquid fire. And Lucifer knew it too, with that pleased, indulgent hum and the claws at his shoulder like a cherry on top.

Then, as always, it was over, and in its place was left a light, fluttering tension. An absence that wasn’t hollowness but anticipation, an awareness of every nerve under Lucifer’s fingers and just how alive each of them was.

“No plans,” Alastor laughed. ”Not yet. You’ve given me plenty to consider, but what about you?”

“Oh, I have a few ideas,” Lucifer said, idly running the flat of the knife across Alastor’s stomach and smiling when Alastor tensed. “I’m sure you don’t know how frustrating it is to have a speech on your tongue but no one to give it to. Sure I could interrupt a show again, but now I can call on you whenever I want! You’ll let me ramble on on one of your broadcasts for a few minutes, won’t you?” The cheer in Lucifer’s voice didn’t match the sharpness of his smile, and Alastor stayed silent, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It didn’t take long before Lucifer tilted his head and tipped the knife on its edge again. “Or I could wait and hold it over your head for all eternity. I think I might like that.”

Of course he would. He’d said it himself. A magic that would last forever, a permanent proof that Alastor was his. It would have been infuriating if it didn’t go both ways—if it wasn’t simultaneously proof of Alastor punching above his weight class and earning himself a perfect reward.

“Oh, I know,” Alastor said. “That’s the beauty of a deal well made. We both get everything we want in exchange for one thing we don’t.”

Alastor’s voice was slow and melodic on the last words, and it ended with a hiss as Lucifer finally pressed the knife down. The cut was small, but by now even that drew out a flinch. “Oh? And what part of this do you think I don’t want?” Lucifer said.

Between shaky breaths, Alastor took a deep one to answer. “Here I was planning to use my end of the deal after you used yours. I wouldn’t want to have an outstanding favor, but if you’re planning to hold onto it forever, I suppose I’ll have to do the same.” Alastor’s hand shifted, fingertips pressing against Lucifer’s knee. “It must be galling, being at the beck and call of a mere sinner.”

Lucifer blinked once before pressing the knife deeper, a punishment for another accurate read. Once again it hurt more than it should have, even with the angelic magic. It hurt more than it had minutes ago, and Alastor found himself trying to twist away as Lucifer pulled it another couple inches. “Reaching your limit?” he asked, and Alastor glared up at him.

“Not even close,” he said through his teeth. Somewhere on the way, a boundary had been crossed, or perhaps it was just a side-effect of the healing. Every cut felt sharper now. Closer, as if the burn would follow the deal straight through to his soul. But somewhere in the midst of it was an odd relief, an excuse to hold nothing back and react freely. To gasp as Lucifer leaned over him and try to turn away as the blade cut into his side, precisely because it didn’t make a difference. Lucifer was still sitting across his hips, keeping him from pulling away, but as he tried Alastor brushed against a hardness in the front of Lucifer’s pants.

In an instant, everything froze. Everything except Lucifer who only leaned in closer, his breath warm against Alastor’s skin. “What’s wrong? How could I not be turned on with all these pretty sounds you’re making? But what about you? Even masochists get something out of pain, so what is it? What’s in it for you?”

It was an effort of will to shift to the side and lean into the knife, but it was worth it to make a point. All of it was worth it, and Alastor’s eyes were wide as he grinned at Lucifer. “You said it yourself, didn’t you? It’s pride, simple as that. You wanted to test my limits? Go ahead and try. The night’s still young. Or are you too distracted?”

For a moment Lucifer paused. “You are very distracting,” Lucifer said as he dropped the knife, and Alastor’s smile faded a few degrees as irritation crept in.

“That wasn’t an invitation.”

“No, but don’t you think it’d be fun?” Lucifer asked as his hand settled back on Alastor’s side, running a thumb along the cut before dipping lower to rest on his hip. “If all you want is to feel as much as you can and keep your head anyway, then you’ll let me give you more. Pleasure and pain together. Go on. Say yes. I know you’ll love it.”

“Maybe,” Alastor said, narrowing his eyes. “But you want it more than I do, and as long as you do, I can get concessions. So, what are you willing to offer?”

“Whatever you want.”

Alastor tipped his head and smiled thinly, waiting for the catch. There had to be one. Lucifer wouldn’t offer anything so unconditionally, and sure enough, after a second he chuckled and patted a hand on Alastor’s hip.

“But next time, I think, and only as long as I enjoy it too. It’ll be even. I get one perfect night, and in return, so do you.”

And better yet, a chance to plan for it. Ideas were already spinning through Alastor’s head. Dinner and a show to start with. Time enough to slip hints into the conversation and let the anticipation build. And then what? There were so many minor favors he could ask for. A glimpse of Lucifer’s powers, somewhere Alastor could really appreciate them. Another night of music. A chance to force Lucifer to eat a proper home-cooked meal instead of the overdone, lavish ones at the palace or the fried garbage at his parks.

And the only cost was one most demons wouldn’t even consider passing up. Distasteful as it was, sex was perfectly normal, even between men, and this was Hell anyway. There was no need to care about normalcy when indulging desires. No need for Alastor to think twice about his reasons for giving Lucifer an exception. All that mattered was that he wanted it, and he had to admit he did. There was a lightning thrill passing across his skin that went beyond adrenaline or excitement for their next meeting. It was anticipation of exactly what Lucifer had offered. Pleasure and pain at once, a flood of sensation that offered to be something entirely new and incredible.

And Lucifer’s smile almost ruined it all. Whether he couldn’t keep the smugness out of it or just hadn’t bothered, he was grinning as if Alastor’s answer was inevitable. As if he could see the exact gears turning in Alastor’s head.  _ Dinner and a show? Oh Alastor, you’re so very easy to please. _ It was almost unbearably tempting to be contrary at the last minute and see that grin turn into a glare, but Alastor shoved the impulse aside.

“You make a compelling offer,” he said, then sighed and let his head fall back on the bed. “I accept. What now?”

“Now,” Lucifer said, “I get to decide. What do I want to do with you?” A finger slid down Alastor’s chest, along his stomach, and to the waistband of his pants, and Lucifer raised a brow. It wandered lower, trailing along his fly, and still Alastor didn’t tense. “Well, aren’t you relaxed. Did you take what I said to heart already, or is the trick just to torture you before I fuck you?”

There was no answering that easily, so Alastor took a different tack. “Is that your decision, then?” he asked and was rewarded with Lucifer’s grin going wide above him.

“Oh, I think so. What better way to commemorate our new deal?”

“A round of drinks, maybe a night on the town?” Alastor mused, then gasped as Lucifer pressed down, palming him through his pants. “But we’ll be saving that for my night, I think”

Lucifer hummed as he paused to undo a button and pull Alastor’s pants down, just enough to pull his dick free. “Exactly. Not yet. Tonight, you’re going to listen to every word I say. Now turn over.”

Alastor did no such thing. “That wasn’t in our agreement,” he said, forcing on a thin smirk despite Lucifer stroking him to hardness.

“No, it wasn’t. But go ahead if you think you know better. Make the next move.”

Alastor’s hand twitched, then lay flat on the bed. As much as it rankled to give up any amount of control to Lucifer, the alternative was worse. He knew what to do, or at least possibilities. It was impossible to live in Hell so long and not know, but bringing himself to do it—to take off Lucifer’s pants and start preparing both of them—was impossible. His hands rebelled at the thought, sending shockwaves of disgust rebounding through him.

Lucifer’s knowing smirk was back again. “No? Not even after all you agreed to? I know you wouldn’t dare go back on your word, but I understand. If you won’t move and you won’t listen, then I’ll just have to tie you up and put you in your place myself. Or was that not part of your plan?”

To call it a plan was an overstatement. A vague, formless idea, maybe, but in these matters, it was always easier to go along with Lucifer’s whims than try to make the right move himself, and today Alastor even had an excuse.

“Plan? No, I’m not the one who needs a plan. It would defeat the purpose if I knew what was coming, so go on. I’m waiting. Show me just how much you can make me feel.”

As his speech ended, Alastor leaned forward, bracing himself up on his elbows. Lucifer’s reply was immediate. A thick cord of light bloomed in his hands, and with a flash, one end of it wrapped itself around Alastor’s throat. Even without an edge, the stinging hum of magic against his skin was intoxicating, but before Alastor could close his eyes to savor it, there was a tug on the end.

“Stand up,” Lucifer said.

“Make me.”

There was nothing Lucifer would have liked better. So said his deep inhale and quiet laugh before he pushed himself off the bed. “If you’re trying to make this go faster, you’re doing a great job,” he chuckled, then gave a sharp yank on the rope. The pull forced Alastor to sit up, and another few had him scooting across the bed until he stumbled to his feet. When he looked up, Lucifer’s smile only widened.

“Go ahead, keep smirking,” he said. “Keep pretending you’re still in control.”

Alastor’s only response was a quizzical tilt of his head.

“Or do you still think you are, even now?” Lucifer asked and stepped in close. His finger ran along the edge of the impromptu collar and left it sparking wonderfully while his other hand ran lower, curling around Alastor’s hip to grab his ass. But just when he was doing so well, Lucifer’s next move was a misstep. It started simply, a shift forward to press his leg between Alastor’s, but there was too much he didn’t account for. There was the height difference, and there was the now undeniable fact that Lucifer was still by far the more turned on of the two. The hardness pressing against Alastor’s leg was all the excuse he needed to widen his smirk.

“Well, this explains a lot! Lilith doesn’t let you do this, does she?” Alastor tapped a finger at Lucifer’s hand around his neck. “No wonder you have your arrangement, but I can’t imagine you have a line of demons waiting to be collared. And if I’m an exception for you just as much as you are for me, then of course I’m in control. Everything you do, you only do because I allow it.”

Lucifer barely waited for the speech to end before grabbing Alastor’s shoulder, spinning him around, and shoving him back down on the bed, hips hanging off the edge. The impact forced a breath from Alastor’s lungs, but he turned it into a laugh. “Even now,” he said. Even when Lucifer grabbed his hands, pinned them behind his back, and tied the loose end of the rope around them. Immediately there was a rush of energy down his arms, like a circuit being connected. Alastor focused on the sensation, on the blood staining the sheets beneath him and the sound of his voice to block out the sound of cloth rustling behind him.

“Are you trying to prove something?” Alastor asked. “I’m sure you could do this to anyone in Hell, O my king. All of us know it, but where’s the fun in that? Perfect, unwavering control? Predictable.”

“Are you reminding me or yourself?” Lucifer countered. A perfect parry.

It was exactly what Alastor had asked for, in words and outside them. Both of them knew it as Lucifer alternated trailing fingers and claws down Alastor’s back, around his bound wrists, and across his ass. He repeated the motion a few times, then followed through. His claws left scratches down Alastor’s legs as he pulled his pants down, tapping at Alastor’s ankles until he lifted his feet and stepped out of them. A knee between Alastor’s thighs pushed his legs apart, and despite himself, the feeling of being exposed had Alastor shifting in discomfort.

But the shift pulled at his shoulders, and that in turn pulled at his wrists and tightened the loop around his throat. Alastor’s swallow caught for a second, an added pressure like brushing against a burn that sent a pleased note through the ambient static. Better yet, Lucifer noticed, hummed along, and spent a minute plucking at the cord while his other hand ran through the fur of Alastor’s tail.

“So distracting,” he sighed eventually. “I could play with you forever, but I still have a promise to keep.”

So he did. A sharp pain shot across Alastor’s shoulder as Lucifer dug in claws, but Alastor flinched into it instead, away from the finger sliding down the cleft of his ass.

“Ah! Stay!” Lucifer said and grabbed on to the cord, leaving Alastor no choice. The burn pulling at his wrists and throat wasn’t nearly distraction enough. There was nothing to do but feel Lucifer’s finger pull away and come back coated in something cool and slick. After a few slow, tortuous strokes it settled in place and pushed forward, sliding its way inside.

Even worse, though, was Lucifer taking advantage of the pressure on Alastor’s throat to murmur falsely sweet encouragement while he slowly added a second finger. “Oh Alastor, that’s right, just relax. Keep going, for me.” Whether it was his intent or not to irritate Alastor to distraction, it worked.

“Lucifer,” Alastor managed. “If you don’t stop talking to me like—“

“You’ll do what?”

A threat would have been tempting, but Alastor didn’t have the breath for a creative one or the power to follow up on a simple one. Instead he went with the honest answer, “I’ll be displeased.”

Lucifer interpreted perfectly, even if he still had to save face. “Oh, we wouldn’t want that!” he said, even as he let go of the rope. “Think how far back that would set us now that you’re finally letting me fuck you.” He timed the last words with adding a third finger, and the ache of being stretched was almost enough to forgive Lucifer for being deliberately frustrating, for avoiding that spot inside him that made this whole endeavor worthwhile.

“Exactly. So get on with it.”

“As you wish,” Lucifer said, lining up his dick and pushing inside as his claws scratched trails down Alastor’s back. The pain at least was something to fall back and focus on, even as being penetrated was uncomfortable at best. Nowhere near the sensory extravaganza he’d been promised, and it would’ve been enough for Alastor to stop if he didn’t know to be patient. It took another few thrusts for Lucifer to adjust, then finally that patience was rewarded when Lucifer hit something that sent warmth pooling through Alastor’s stomach and shivers up his spine.

“There it is,” Lucifer whispered, the sound almost lost amid radio static as he clawed a set of lines down Alastor’s spine and wrapped a hand around his tail. Alastor tried to follow but only managed to brush his fingers against a tuft of fur. He could almost reach, almost touch his fingertips to Lucifer’s hand if his wrists were tied just a bit looser, but trying only pulled the cord taut around his neck and caught Lucifer’s eye. “Did you want something, dear?” he asked, the words turning perverse as he set a steady rhythm fucking in and out of Alastor’s ass. But the very fact that Alastor still cared that it was perverse was a problem in itself.

“Yes,” Alastor said, his voice perfectly composed if somewhat tight from the angle of his neck. “More.”

“If you say so,” Lucifer answered, not doing nearly as good a job disguising his glee, but he didn’t have to. The eagerness in his voice and the slow drift of his hands across Alastor’s skin already had him tensing in anticipation. One of them wrapped around his dick and started stroking in a slow pattern to match Lucifer’s pace, and the other repeated the same gesture from before. It started at Alastor’s hands, then traced down his spine and along his tail, but this time there was magic in the touch. This time it burned as it went, and everything else fell into the background.

Somewhere in the distance, there was a sharp pain in Alastor’s palms, the feeling of his hands clenching into fists as every muscle in his body tensed. There was the sound of Lucifer moaning as he sped up his pace. There was the double-time rhythm of Alastor’s heartbeat in his ears, but all of that was just noise. Before any of it, there was heat. The warmth of spilled blood and waves of pleasure as Lucifer added a twist to his strokes, all set afire by the burn of angelic magic. It was unbearable, furnace-hot and only climbing as beads of sweat rolled down Alastor’s sides to sting at his cuts. Every move cycled back between him and Lucifer like some swirling inferno, and still it wasn’t enough. Still Alastor knew it wouldn’t shake his composure. Pulling his hands up let him loosen the rope and take a deep breath, and Alastor relaxed onto the bed. Small trembles still passed under his skin like aftershocks, and he let himself sway in time with Lucifer’s thrusts, but it was his choice. It was still under control.

“What, not enough for you?” Lucifer asked.

Alastor spaced his words out carefully so they couldn’t be misinterpreted. “No. More,” he said, then waited for Lucifer to decide, all the while steadying his breathing and savoring the deep glow of sensation running through him.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Lucifer asked, and before Alastor could scoff a claw carefully alighted on the base of his dick. It wasn’t enough to hurt, barely enough to know it was there, but just the threat of it had Alastor’s breath catching in his throat then coming out as an involuntary sound. Almost a whine if Alastor cared enough to label it because no, suddenly he wasn’t sure yet perfectly sure at the same time. No matter what, nothing was permanent, not without a deal. He could take it, just as he could take anything else and come out stronger for knowing he hadn’t yet found his limits. And oh, just imagine how much it would  _ feel. _ The immense, mind-numbing pain of it with the equal and opposite pleasure of Lucifer stroking him every step of the way, sending any thoughts left spiraling hopelessly into confusion. And as Lucifer’s claw glided down his length—barely present, barely making contact but still threatening so much—and caught just barely on his head, Alastor was gone. The fire inside him flared to blinding white stars, blinking and dazzling before slowly dying down.

Somewhere along the way, Lucifer must have come too, since when Alastor finally noticed him again, Lucifer was breathing hard, his hands braced on the bed. “Fuck, Alastor,” he breathed. “From that?”

There was no need to answer, so Alastor stayed silent, reaching out to the rest of his senses. It was another few seconds before he realized a weight had been lifted. Lucifer’s magic was gone, or at least back to its usual subliminal glow. No longer was it binding his hands or threatening to tear apart the station’s magic. Nor did it seem to be an oversight, since Lucifer didn’t react when Alastor let go of his defenses. Alastor took that as his cue to slip into shadows—and what a welcome chill that was after everything else—and reappear a few feet away, lying on his side to let his healing take effect. Lucifer finally moved then, climbing onto the bed to lie facing him. It was too close, not even a foot apart, and Lucifer’s arms reached out to wrap around Alastor, carefully avoiding any cuts and the slight burn around his neck.

“What are you doing?” Alastor asked, and Lucifer chuckled his response.

“Aftercare.”

“Hm.” Alastor paused for a few seconds to let the absurdity of that sink in. “Why?” Nothing Lucifer did was anything he hadn’t asked for, directly or indirectly, and it would take more than pain to scare Alastor off now. Quite the contrary.

“Because I don’t care what you think,” Lucifer answered. “I won’t let you run off because of some silly quirk in that painfully human head of yours.”

Alastor almost laughed at that, but the air was too still to break the calm so easily. Instead he just grinned and leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Lucifer’s. “Who, me? If you’re going to joke, you can do better. Surely a deal with the literal devil precludes entry to Heaven, and where else could I run to get away from you?”

The deal was still there, glinting like a diamond in his head and driving home the impossibility, but Lucifer pulled away. “You’d hate it in Heaven,” he said, his voice distant.

“Bored in a minute and back in a day,” Alastor agreed. “But I might take the time to pay a visit or two. Not everyone worth knowing ended up down here, only most of them.”

“Exactly! Why would anyone want to leave?” There was a bitter edge to Lucifer’s tone though, and this time it did set Alastor laughing.

“Oh, Lucifer,” he said when he caught his breath. “You don’t honestly think  _ Charlie’s  _ leaving, do you? She won’t so much as think about stepping through those gates until every last one of us is on the path to redemption. Even if she realizes it’s impossible, it’ll be more than enough time for you to change her mind.”

Lucifer glared for a moment, sighed, and rolled on his back to stare up at the ceiling, aftercare forgotten. “You think? Lilith always says so, but Charlie’s not two hundred anymore. She hasn’t listened to me in centuries, but oh! Maybe I should write a card! Or one of those new e-cards.”

A phone appeared in Lucifer’s hands, and no amount of exaggeration could do justice to how unimpressed Alastor was. For a few seconds, he considered how best to break the thing while Lucifer tapped away and hummed a tune. Then he reconsidered and limited himself to warping it to the nightstand. It went against Alastor’s better nature to be so helpful free of charge, and Charlie’s reaction would have been a sight, but this was just painful to watch.

“You,” he said, “are going to visit the Hotel, congratulate her, and only stay for dinner if you can manage it without setting any of our guests on fire.”

Lucifer scoffed. “Oh? And what am I supposed to do if they offend me?”

“Of course they’ll offend you. We’re in Hell.” And Lucifer didn’t always make the most dignified of first impressions. “So in return, you get to terrify them into regretting every word they’ve ever said. I’m sure you can find a means for it among your many talents, my king.”

Lucifer considered for a while, then grinned and turned back to Alastor to pull him close. “Tomorrow it is then!” he said, then let his eyes slide shut. There was a long moment of confusion while Lucifer didn’t move until Alastor realized he was trying to sleep. Reaching for his shadows only had Lucifer’s magic slapping them away before settling down again. “No,” Lucifer mumbled. “You have a busy week ahead of you. Sleep while you can.”

With a sigh, Alastor relented and snapped nightclothes into existence around them, a sufficient compromise if Lucifer’s chuckle was anything to go by.

More than anything else though, it was astonishing that for being able to read Alastor so well, Lucifer was still utterly baffled about how to act around his own daughter. Maybe it was just parental cluelessness, an inability to adjust as Charlie grew up and out of the old tricks that had once made her laugh. Maybe it was simpler than that, nothing more than a proud, adversarial nature that Lucifer had never needed to temper. Alastor and Lilith and the other overlords were proud enough in their own right to stand up to it, but Charlie had never had a chance to learn. All it had done for her was undermine her self-confidence at every turn, but this time would be different. This time she had a victory of her own to lean on.

Alastor chuckled, but Lucifer was already asleep. He didn’t bother with the snap this time, taking only a wave of his hand to swap the covers back from bloodstained white to deep red and pull them up around them.

It wasn’t as though he cared, Alastor thought. Not in that cloyingly familiar, familial way. He’d leave that to Lucifer, but there was a certain satisfaction in turning a stubborn puzzle piece just the right way to fit. There was a beautiful show to put on if someone took the time to write a script for it, and Lucifer was right. If there was one thing Alastor had plenty of, it was time.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, there it is. Day 7, just over a week late because of life, block, and my utter inability to keep these damn things short. I'm afraid I'll probably be skipping Day 6 for good because wow the burnout. I really need to write something else for a while. Sorry!
> 
> Also apologies for any poor editing. If I reread this one more time without taking a break first, I'm going to go insane. Feel free to nag at me in the comments if there's anything particularly offensive. I'd hate to break immersion when it's about the only thing making this questionable-ass stuff readable.


End file.
